of fathers, when there is such a man as Or-Why, what means this? Why do you look on lando? me?

Cel. O, that's a brave man! he writes brave I see no more in you, than in the ordinary verses, speaks brave words, swears trave oaths, Of nature's sale-work :-Od's my little life! and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart I think she means to tangle my eyes too:the heart of his lover; as a puny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose: but all's brave, that youth mounts, and folly guides:-Who comes here? Enter Corin.

Cor. Mistress, and master, you. have oft in-
quired

After the shepherd that complain'd of love;
Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
That was his mistress.

Cel.

Well, and what of him
Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd,
Between the pale complexion of true love,
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,
Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you,
If you will mark it.

Ros.
O, come, let us remove;
The sight of lovers feedeth those in love:-
Bring us unto this sight, and you shall say
I'll prove a busy actor in their play. [Exeunt.
SCENE V. Another part of the Forest.
Enter Silvius and Phebe.

Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not,
Phebe:

Say, that you love me not; but say not so
In bitterness. The common executioner,
Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes
hard,

Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck,
But first begs pardon; Will you sterner be,
Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?
Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin, at a distance.
Phe. I would not be thy executioner:
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou tell'st me, there is murder in mine eyes;
'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,
That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things,
Who shut their coward gates on atomies,-
Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers!
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart;
And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill
thee;

Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down;
Or, if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers.
Now show the wound mine eye hath made in

thee:

Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush,
The cicatrice and palpable impressure

Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine
eyes,

Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not:
Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes
That can do hurt.

Sil.
O dear Phebe,
If ever, (as that ever may be near,)
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,
Then shall you now the wounds invisible
That love's keen arrows make.
Phe.
But, till that time,
Come not thou near me: and, when that time

comes,

Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;
As, till that time, I shall not pity thee.

No, 'faith, proud mistress, hope not after it;
'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk-hair,
Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship.
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow
her,

Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain?
You are a thousand times, a properer man,
Than she a woman: "Tis such fools as you,
That make the world full of ill-favour'd children:
'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her;
And out of you she sees herself more proper,
Than any of her lineaments can show her.-
But, mistress, know yourself; down on your
knees,

And thank heaven fasting, for a good man's love;
For I must tell you friendly in your ear,-

Sell when you can; you are not for all markets:
Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer;
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.
So take her to thee, shepherd:-fare you well.
Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year
together;

I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.
Ros. He's fallen in love with her foulness, and
she'll fall in love with my anger: if it be so, as
fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll
sauce her with bitter words.-Why look you so
upon me?

Phe. For no ill will I bear you.

Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me, For I am falser than vows made in wine; Besides, I like you not: If you will know my

house,

'Tis at the tuft of olives, here hard by:-
Will you go, sister?-Shepherd, ply her hard:--
Come, sister:-Shepherdess, look on him better,
And be not proud: though all the world could

see,

None could be so abus'd in sight as he.
Come, to our flock.

[Exeunt Rosalind, Celia, and Corin. Phe. Dear shepherd! now I find thy saw of might;

Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?
Sil. Sweet Phebe,-

Phe.
Ha! What say'st thou, Silvius 7
Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me.
Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.
Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be;
If you do sorrow at my grief in love,
By giving love, your sorrow and my grief
Were both extermin'd.

Phe. Thou hast my love; is not that neigh-
bourly?

Sil. I would have you.

Phe.
Why, that were covetousness.
Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee;
And yet it is not, that I bear thee love;"
But since that thou canst talk of love so well,
Thy company, which erst was irksome to me,
I will endure; and I'll employ thee too:
But do not look for further recompense,
Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd.
Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my love,
And I in such a poverty of grace,
That I shall think it a most plenteous crop
To glean the broken ears after the man
That the main harvest reaps; lose now and then

Ros. And why, I pray you? [Advancing.] Who A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon.

might be your mother,

That you insult, exult, and all at once,

Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me ere while ?

Over the wretched? What, though you have Sil. Not very well, but I have met him oft:

beauty,

And he hath bought the cottage, and the bounds,
That the old carlot once was master of.

Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for

him;

"Tis but a peevish boy:-yet he talks well;-
But what care I for words? yet words do well,
When he that speaks them pleases those that
hear.

It is a pretty youth:-not very pretty:
But, sure, he's proud: and yet his pride becomes
him:

He'll make a proper man: The best thing in him
Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue
Did make offence, his eye did heal it up.
He is not tall; yet for his years he's tall:
His leg is but so so: and yet 'tis well:
There was a pretty redness in his lip;
A little riper and more lusty red

Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the
difference

Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask.
There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd

him

In parcels as I did, would have gone near
To fall in love with him: but, for my part,
I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet'
I have more cause to hate him than to love him:
For what had he to do to chide at me ?

He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair
black;

And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me:
I marvel, why I answer'd not again;
But that's all one; omittance is no quittance.
I'll write to him a very taunting letter,
And thou shalt bear it; Wilt thou, Silvius?
Sil. Phebe, with all my heart.

Phe.

I'll write it straight;
The matter's in my head, and in my heart:
I will be bitter with him, and passing short:
Go with me, Silvius.

ACT IV.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I. The same.
Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques.
Jay. I pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better
acquainted with thee.

now, Orlando! where have you been all this
while? You a lover?-An you terve me such
another trick, never come in my sight more.
Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour
of my promise.

Ros. Break an hour's promise in love? He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him, that Cupid hath clapp'd him o' the shoulder, but I warrant him heart-whole.

Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind.

Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight: I had as lief be woo'd of a snail. Orl. Of a snail?

Ros. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than you can make a woman: "Besides, he brings his destiny with him.

Orl. What's that?

Ros. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to be beholden to your wives for: but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents the slander of his wife.

Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.

Ros. And I am your Rosalind.

Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you.

Ros. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour, and like enough to con sent: What would you say to me now, an 1 were your very very Rosalind.

Orl. I would kiss, before I spoke.

Ros. Nay, you were better speak first; and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers, lacking (God warn us!) matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.

Orl. How if the kiss be denied?

begins new matter.
Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there

Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?

mistress; or I should think my honesty ranker Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your than my wit.

I

Orl. What, of my suit?

Ros. They say you are a melancholy fellow. Jaq. I am so I do love it better than laughing. Ros. Those that are in extremity of either, are abominable fellows; and betray themselves to every modern censure, worse than drunkards. Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post. which is emulation; nor the musician's, which Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor the soldier's, which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politick; nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these: Orl. Then, in mine own person, I die. but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded world is almost six thousand years old, and in Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor of many simples, extracted from many objects; all this time there was not any man died in his and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my own person, videlicit, in a love-cause. Troilus travels; which, by often rumination, wraps me had his brains dashed out with a Grecian club; in a most humorous sadness. Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great yet he did what he could to die before; and he is reason to be sad: I fear, you have sold your own one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would lands, to see other men's; then to have seen turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsumhave lived many a fair year, though Hero had much, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes mer night: for, good youth, he went but forth to and poor hands.

Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of would be talking of her. your suit. Am not I your Rosalind? Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because Ros. Well, in her person I say--I will not have you

Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience.
Enter Orlando.

Ros. And your experience makes you sad: 1 had rather have a fool to make me merry, than experience to make me sad; and to travel for it

too.

wash him in the Hellespont, and, being taken with the cramp, was drowned;nd the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was-Hero of Sestos. But these are all lies; men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.

Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind; for, I protest, her frown might kill me.

Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly: But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition; and ask me what you will, I will grant it.

Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind! Jaq. Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse. Exit. Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller: Look, you lisp, and wear strange suits; disable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are: or I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola.-Why, how days, and all.

Orl. Then love me, Rosalind.
Ros. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays, and Satur-

Orl. And wilt thou have me?
Ros. Ay, and twenty such.
Orl. What say'st thou ?
Ros. Are you not good?
Orl. I hope so.

unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful: therefore beware my censure, and keep your promise.

Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind: So, adieu.

Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?-Come, sister, you shall be the Ros. Well, time is the old justice that examines priest, and marry us.-Give me your hand, Or-all such offenders, and let time try: Adieu! lando:-What do you say, sister? Erit Orlando. Orl. 'Pray thee, marry us. Cel. I cannot say the words. Ros. You must begin,

Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your love-prate: we must have your doublet and hose Will you, Orlando,-pluck'd over your head, and show the world Cel. Go to:-Will you, Orlando, have to wife what the bird hath done to her own nest.

this Rosalind?

Orl. I will.

Ros. Ay, but when?

Orl. Why now; as fast as she can marry us. Ros. Then you must say,-I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. Ros. I might ask you for your commission; but,-I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband: There a girl goes before the priest; and, certainly, a woman's thought runs before her actions.

Orl. So do all thoughts; they are winged. Ros. Now tell me how long you would have her, after you have possessed her.

Orl. For ever and a day.

Ros. Say a day, without the ever: No, no, Orlando; men are April when they woo: December when they wed: maids are May when hey are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen; more clamorous than a parrot against rain: more newfangled than an ape; more giddy in my desires than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain; and I will do that when you are disposed to be merry: I will laugh like a hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep. Orl. But will my Rosalind do so? Ros. By my life, she will do as I do. Orl. O, but she is wise.

Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep 1 am in love! But it cannot be sounded; my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal.

Cel. Or rather bottomless; that as fast as you pour affection in it, it runs out.

Ros. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and born of madness; that blind rascally boy, that abuses every one's eyes, because his own are out, let him be judge, how deep I am in love-I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando: I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come.

Čel. And I'll sleep.

"Exeunt.

SONG.

Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the wiser, the waywarder: Make the doors 1. What shall he have that kill'd the deer? upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the case-2. ment; shut that, and 'twill out at the key hole; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.

Orl. Á man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say,-Wit, whither wilt?

Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it till you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed.

Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse that?

Ros. Marry, to say,-she came to seek you there. You shall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool.

Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.

Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours.

Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner; by two o'clock I will be with thee again.

(*)

His leather skin and horns to wear.
1. Then sing him home:
Take thou no scorn, to wear the horn
It was a crest ere thou wast born;
1. Thy father's father wore it;
And thy father bore it:
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn,
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. [Exeunt.

All.

SCENE III. The Forest.

Enter Rosalind and Celia. Ros. How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock ? and here much Orlando! Cel. 1 warrant you, with pure love, and troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and is gone forth to sleep: Look who comes here.

Enter Silvius.

Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth:-
My gentle Phebe, bid me give you this:

I

[ Giving a letter.

know not the contents; but as I guess, Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways;-1 By the stern brow and waspish action knew what you would prove; my friends told Which she did use as she was writing of it, me as much, and I thought no less-that flat-It bears an angry tenour: pardon me, tering tongue of yours won me :-'tis but one I am but as a guiltless messenger. cast away, and so, come, death.-Two o'clock Ros. Patience herself would startle at this is your hour.

Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind.

letter,

And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all:
She says, I am not fair; that I lack manners;
She calls me proud; and, that she could not
Were men as rare as phoenix: Od's my will!

love me

Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and
so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that
are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your
promise, or come one minute behind your hour,
1 will think you the most pathetical break pro- Her love is not the hare that I do hunt:
mise, and the most hollow lover, and the most
The rest shall bear this burden,

Why writes she so to me ?-Well, shepherd, well, |The owner of the house I did inquire for ?
This is a letter of your own device.

Sil. No, 1 protest, I know not the contents;
Phebe did write it.

Ros.
Come, come, you are a fool,
And turn'd into the extremity of love.
I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand,
A freestone colour'd hand; I verily did think
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands;
She has a huswife's hand: but that's no matter:
I say, she never did invent this letter;
This is a man's invention, and his hand.
Sil. Sure, it is hers.

Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style,
A style for challengers: why, she defies me,
Like Turk to Christian: woman's gentle brain
Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention,
Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect
Than in their countenance:-Will you hear the
letter?

Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet;
Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty.
Ros. She Phebe's me: Mark how the tyrant
writes.

Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, [Reads.
That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?

Can a woman rail thus?

Sil. Call you this railing?
Ros. Why, thy godhead laid apart,

Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?
Did you ever hear such railing?-

Whiles the eye of man did woo me, That could do no vengeance to me→→ Meaning me a beast.

If the scorn of your bright eyne Have power to raise such love in mine, Alack, in me what strange effect Would they work in mild aspect? Whiles you chid me, I did love; How then might your prayers move? He, that brings this love to thee, Little knows this love in me: And by him seal up thy mind; Whether that thy youth and kind Will the faithful offer take Of me, and all that I can make ; Or else by him my love deny, And then I'll study how to die. Sil. Call you this chiding? Cel. Alas, poor shepherd! Ros. Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. Wilt thou love such a woman ?-What, to make thee an instrument, and play false strains upon thee! not to be endured 1-Well, go your way to her, (for I see, love hath made thee a tame snake,) and say this to her ;-That if she love me, I charge her to love thee: if she will not, I will never have her, unless thou entreat for her.-If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company. [Exit Silvius.

Enter Oliver. Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones: Pray you, you know

Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are.
Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both;
And to that youth he calls his Rosalind,
He sends this bloody napkin; are you he?
Ros. 1 am: What must we understand by
this?

Oli. Some of my shame; if you will know of

And high top bald with dry antiquity,
A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck
A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself,
Who with her head, nimble in threats approach'd
The opening of his mouth; but suddenly,
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself,
And with indented glides did slip away
Into a bush: under which bush's shade
A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,
Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike
watch,

When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis
The royal disposition of that beast,

To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead:
This seen, Orlando did approach the man,
And found it was his brother, his elder brother.
Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same

brother;

But kindness, nobler ever than revenge,
And nature, stronger than his just occasion,
Made him give battle to the lioness,
Who quickly fell before him; in which hurtling
From miserable slumber I awak'd.
Cel. Are you his brother?

Ros.

Was it you he rescu'd ? Cel. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him ?

To tell you what I was, since my conversion
Oli. 'Twas I; but 'tis not 1: I do not shame
So sweetly tastes, being the thing 1 am.
Ros. But, for the bloody napkin ?—
Oli.
By and by
When from the first to last, betwixt us two,
Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd
As, how I came into that desert place ;-
if In brief he led me to the gentle duke,,
Who gave me fresh array and entertainment,
Committing me unto my brother's love;
Who led me instantly unto his cave,
There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm
The lioness had torn some flesh away,
Which all this while had bled; and now he
fainted,

Where, in the purlieus of this forest, stands
A sheep-cote, fenc'd about with olive-trees?
Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour
bottom,

The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream,
Left on your right hand, brings you to the place:
But at this hour the house doth keep itself,
There's note within.

Oh. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Then I should know you by description;
Such garments, and such years: The ooy is
fair,

Of female favour, and bestows himself
Like a ripe sister; but the woman low,
And browner than her brother.

Are not you

And cry'd, in fainting, upon Rosalind.
Brief, I recover'd him; bound up his wound;
And, after some small space, being strong at
heart,

He sent me hither, stranger as I am,
To tell this story, that you might excuse
His broken promise, and to give this napkin,
Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd youth
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.

Cel. There is more in it :-Cousin-Ganymede!
Oli. Look, he recovers.
Ros.

I would, I were at home.
Cel. We'll lead you thither :-
I pray you, will you take him by the arm?

Touch. Then learn this of me: To have, is to have: For it is a figure in rhetorick, that drink, being poured out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the other: for all your writers do consent, that ipse is he; now you are not ipse, for I am he. Will. Which he, sir 7

Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman: Therefore, you clown, abandon,-which is in

Oli. Be of good cheer, youth :-You a man?-the vulgar, leave,-the society,-which in the You lack a man's heart.

Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sir, a body would think this was well counterfeited: I pray on, tell your brother how well I counterfeited. Heigh ho!

Oli. This was not counterfeit; there is too great testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion of earnest.

Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you.

Oli. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to be a man.

Ros. So I do: but, i' faith, I should have been a woman by right.

Cel. Come, you look paler and paler; pray you, draw homewards:-Good sir, go with us. Oli. That will I, for I must bear answer backHow you excuse my brother, Rosalind. Ros. I shall devise something: But, I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to him: Will you go?

ACT V.

SCENE 1. The same.

[Exeunt.

Enter Touchstone and Audrey. Touch. We shall find a time, Audrey; tience, gentle Audrey.

boorish is, company,-of this female,-which in the common is,-woman, which together is, abandon the society of this female; or, clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death, thy liberty into bondage: will deal in poison with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with thee in faction; I will o'errun thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways: therefore tremble, and depart.

I

I

Aud. Do, good William.
Will. God rest you merry, sir.
Enter Corin.

[Exit.

Cor. Our master and mistress seek you; come, away, away.

Touch. Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey :-I attend,
attend.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II. The same.

Enter Orlando and Oliver.

Orl. Is't possible, that on so little acquaintance you should like her? that but seeing, you should love her ? and, loving, woo? and, wooing, she should grant 1 and will you persever to pa-enjoy her?

Aud. Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old gentleman's saying.

Touch. A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Mar-text. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you. Aud. Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest in me in the world: here comes the man you

mean.

Enter William.

Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown: By my troth, we that have good wits, have much to answer for; we shall be flouting we cannot hold.

Will. Good even, Audrey.

Aud. God ye good even, William. Will. And good even to you, sir. Touch. Good even, gentle friend: Cover thy head, cover thy head; nay, pry'thee, be covered. How old are you, friend?

Will. Five-and-twenty, sir.

Touch. A ripe age: Is thy name William?
Will. William, sir.

Touch. A fair name: Wast born i' the forest here ?

Will. Ay, sir, I thank God.

Oli. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my say with me, I love Aliena; say with her, that sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting; but she loves me; consent with both, that we may enjoy each other: it shall be to your good; for my father's house, and all the revenue that was old Sir Rowland's, will I estate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd.

Enter Rosalind.

Orl. You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow: thither will I invite the duke, and all his contented followers: Go you, and prepare Aliena; for, look you, here comes my Rosalind.

Ros. God save you, brother.
Oli. And you, fair sister.

Ros. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me
to see thee wear thy heart in a scarf.
Orl. It is my arm.

Ros. I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion.

Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady.

Ros. Did your brother tell you how I counTouch. Thank God;-a good answer: Art terfeited to swoon, when he showed me your rich ?

Will. 'Faith, sir, so, so.

Touch. So, so, is good, very good, very excelent good:-and yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise ?

handkerchief?

Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that. Ros. Ó, I know where you are:-Nay, 'tis true: there never was any thing so sudden, but the fight of two rams, and Cæsar's thrasonical Will. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit orag of-1 came, saw, and overcame: For your Touch. Why, thou say'st well. I do now re-brother and my sister no sooner met, but they member a saying; The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool. The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth; meaning thereby, that grapes were made to eat, and lips to open. You do love this maid?

looked; no sooner looked, but they loved; no sooner loved, but they sighed; no sooner sighed, but they asked one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason, but they sought the remedy: and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage, which they will climb incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage: they are in the very wrath of love, Touch. Give me your hand: Art thou learned ? and they will together; clubs cannot part them.

Will. I do, sir.

Will. No, sir.

Orl. They shall be married to-morrow; and